


[crushed can noises]

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AKA Golden Kamuy made me a degenerate, But who knows considering how masochistic people make him, Crime Scenes, Gavin gets penetrated but not how he'd like, I don't know how to categorize this but if you get a bad fetish from it that's your problem, M/M, Probably hornier than it should be, Skewers, Temporary Character Death, This is from a /dbhg/ prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Don't tip the machine.





	[crushed can noises]

**Author's Note:**

> I got some feedback from the awesome crimsonherbarium and chisatq from the Remove Eyeballs server for this.  
> You might want to remove your eyeballs after reading this much trashy rat man in one sitting, but stick with me here.

"For the fifth time, Reed, stop messing with your phone and get back to work!"

Gavin rolled his chair away from his comfortable game of Minesweeper only to bump into a wall of plastic.

"Excuse me, Captain Fowler, sir, but what the hell and fuck is..." Gavin swallowed his well-placed insults. "...That?"

The precinct used to think Connor was all sweetness and light, a rookie too doe-eyed for his station. That Connor was thrown off Cyberlife Tower for his trouble. This Connor was none of that. Any trace of softness in his body was gone. He was plastic hiding steel. He— _it—_ could probably snap all the bones in Gavin’s body just by glaring in his direction.

His traitorous dick would kill him if Fowler didn’t kill him first.

"This is RK900. He'll be your partner for the foreseeable future," Fowler explained, reading off a holopad on the plastic prick's "serutaeF dna noitarepO ledoM."

"What if I tell you I don't need a babysitter? Didn't you see the haul of druggies I brought in last month?"

"You can't keep having sex with the suspects, Reed."

"It was a gay bar, sir, what else was I supposed to—”  The plastic prick glared at him. "I mean, you're not gonna replace me with this thing, are you?"

Gavin’s bones had yet to collapse on him, but there was a small, cloying voice planting itself in the back of his brain, reminding him how lonely he'd been after turning the whole precinct against him and how _nice_ it would feel to collapse into Connor’s sweet metal embrace. The thought was so cavity-inducing that it made Gavin want to drill a hole in his head himself.

"That won't be necessary. I look forward to a long and fruitful working relationship with you, Detective Reed," it said, cold and artificial as ever.

“Don't count on it.” Gavin snorted. Who the fuck was he kidding? This Connor was even more soulless than the last.

"You can show him around the precinct while I get his tax forms done, right?" asked Fowler. It was not a question.

"Yeah, yeah." Gavin rolled his chair back towards his desk as Fowler headed back to his office to mull over Connor 2's instruction manual.

Gavin rolled towards the android, pinching his leg to distract himself from how nicely its uniform framed its pecs.

"Listen up, idiot. I want you to go to the kebab truck near the park, buy me some spicy lamb skewers, and get the hell out of my way. Got it?"

"That won't be possible. My instructions tell me to accompany you for the time being."

"Aren't you guys supposed to be free now? Why don't you free up some time and get me some food? That'll cheer me up, really."

"...If it's for morale, then I suppose I can make an exception just this once." The android began to blink erratically as its LED turned yellow. “Payment confirmed. I put the expense on my personal account."

"Huh?" Gavin was still too fixated on RK’s robo-seizure to comment.

"Never mind. This expense should be well within your nutritional and financial means. Call it a calculated risk."

"...Uh-huh."

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes with your lunch, Detective. Behave."

"If that's what gets you off, weirdo." Gavin leaned back and unpaused his game. Maybe having a plastic pet wasn't so bad after all. Now that it wasn’t breathing down his neck he could calm down a little. 

Gavin switched to a more high-octane game to celebrate, an old 3DS RPG he definitely would have gotten yelled at for pirating had Fowler not been preoccupied with all the inconveniently placed tabs and slots to connect on his shiny new plastic toy.

But then 10 minutes passed, then 20, and by the half-hour mark Gavin was starting to wonder if Mr. Roboto had self-immolated while Gavin was pretending to concentrate on reading case files.

"I'm gonna take a piss. I mean, a smoke," Gavin said to nobody in particular as he headed to the parking lot to use up his break minutes.

Gavin found a good spot on the curb to set up a holoscreen display and went to town. He was about to beat the final boss in his game when a car suddenly ran over his party.

A black taxi rolled up, and the android hopped out with a boxful of doughnuts in hand. Pink frosted, the warmth of them melting the glaze a little, in a pinker box with the shop’s locations all over Ontario. _Ontario?_ Gavin shook his head. Did it get them from across the fucking border?

"Your lunch is in my back pocket," the android said, chewing on a fresh cruller. "I thought cross-contaminating them with frosting would considerably dampen the experience."

"Seeing you eat is dampening my experience," Gavin parroted as he grabbed at its ass. "Jesus, does CyberLife give all of its robots so much junk in the trunk or are you just fat?"

The paper bag crinkled when Gavin brushed his hand against it. Gavin let himself miss the bag entirely, pressing his fingers into RK’s firm asscheek hard enough to leave indents that some smug tech dipshit would have to deal with later.

“Robots don't _have_ any fat, Detective.” RK’s voice lilted as Gavin’s wandering hand began to grope it. Gavin thought he felt some static in it. The android’s LED stuttered as it finally leaned into the touch.

Gavin slipped his hand out of RK’s pocket and took his skewers, biting into all of them at once to pull the metal sticks out cleanly. It grimaced as the lamb slices hanging out of Gavin’s mouth seemed to crawl inside. RK shoved the rest of the doughnut in its mouth, stepping back to put some distance between them when Gavin clapped its ass with his free hand.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, plastic?” Gavin asked through a mouthful of meat.

“I intend to ask Captain Fowler for permission to share these with your coworkers,” RK replied through an equal mouthful of pastry. Its voice sounded perfectly clear even when it was swallowing food. Gavin could practically hear its synthetic Adam’s apple bob with the motion. “The positive correlation between law enforcement and doughnut consumption makes me inclined to think that...”

Gavin’s attention drifted to a crumb on RK's mouth. He wanted to lick it off, find out what that mouth could do for him. Specifically, what it could do wrapped around his dick. If he didn't have that fantasy play out for real in the next few seconds, he would probably die. He yanked the android's head towards his face by its shirt collar, wrapping a leg around its body.

“Spare the statistics and give me some sugar.”

=====

The scene was grisly, the metal in Detective Reed’s cheek poking through the other side of his face, the topmost stick piercing his right earlobe. An RK900 model was splayed over the body, a scratched plastic hand protectively cupping the back of the detective’s head. It might have been an attempt to save the detective… or it might have been what did him in. Connor’s analysis program was well-equipped to dig through the possibilities.

“Jesus, this is worse than the time I saw your evil clone go splat by the tower.” Hank peeled the paper off his country fried steak burger and took a hearty bite, wiping a glob of gravy out of his beard with a wrinkled napkin. “Think one of the police droids went rogue on us?”

“I just checked, Lieutenant. They're all accounted for.” Connor glanced down. “All but one.”

Connor was 55% sure he heard Hank whimper at the discarded box of doughnuts on the side of the road, small rocks sticking to the melted topping like asphalt sprinkles.

A cursory check of the sticky hands of suspect and victim left him with a frightening state of affairs. This crime scene contained more calories than a late-night buffet. 

“More importantly, what kind of deviant would attack a policeman in front of his own precinct?” Hank muttered as Connor analyzed the bloodstain pooling around the detective’s head—about three hours old.

“There’s something... _off_ about this situation. The body hasn’t even begun to decay. It’s like he never died.” Connor kneeled next to the body and touched the inside of the detective’s cheek with his finger. Cold, as corpses often were, but also oddly dry, as if all the fluid had been sucked out of his mouth with a vacuum.

“You fucking wouldn’t.” Hank’s jaw dropped.

“I’m sure the inside of Detective Reed’s mouth won’t taste pleasant, but it’s for the case.”

Connor put the sample on his tongue.

“Traces of saliva with particles of cumin lamb brushed with olive oil at… _-321 degrees Fahrenheit?”_

“God, that’s beyond disgusting!” Hank was shielding his eyes with his arm, holding his half-eaten sandwich up like a protective amulet.

“He’s frozen.”

“Jeez, Connor.” Hank said, visibly deflated. “Don’t you have a less corpse-fucking way to test his internal temperature?”

“Putting more foreign objects in Detective Reed’s mouth is too risky. I wouldn’t want to puncture his cheeks any further.”

“Well, count me out if you’re gonna touch any more of his holes.” Hank walked into the parking circle to examine the other side of the body, muttering something about “fuckin’ horndog androids.”

“Lieutenant. I think I understand what happened now.”

“Well, Connor?” Hank pat him on the shoulder. “What did them in?”

“The doughnuts.”

“You think he had a _robot heart attack?_ You’re kidding, right?”

Connor shook his head. “More like a robot stroke, but a model this advanced wouldn’t just… _fall,_ would it? I think a software instability might have affected him.”

“What has the world come to?”

“Allow me to explain.” Connor cleared his throat. It served no purpose; it was just a human tic he’d picked up, but somehow it seemed to clear the static out of his speech synthesizer. “The victim met the deviant… in front of the precinct. The deviant knew about his history and confronted him… with the skewers. But based on the angle of the weapon, we can infer that the murder… was an accident.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on a second.”

“Do you see any holes in my theory?”

“I don’t think so, but do you really have to keep pausing before you make big statements like that? Come on.”

“It’s for… dramatic effect, Lieutenant.” Connor winked.

“Go on.”

“The detective was right in front of him. If murder was the end goal, it would be more efficient to aim for the heart. The way they’re positioned makes me think that the deviant bricked on top of the detective… and crushed him.”

“Or, you know, maybe Reed just broke his neck on the way down. Just look at that fucking blood puddle.” Hank gestured at the area around the detective’s head. “That android’s holding some kind of needle in his other hand. With how tight his grip is, I bet it’s attached to something else. Something had to freeze Detective Rat up, right? What do you think he was trying to pull there?”

“If we could just pry the android’s fist open…” Connor paced back and forth in front of the body, trying to compile this new information. “Then we should have enough evidence to figure out the truth.”

Connor reached for the android's arm, letting the skin recede to probe his memory.

The reactivated RK900 climbed into a plank position, using his arms to crawl away from the body before gracefully standing up. “800. I thought you deactivated.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Connor paused to give the android a chance to state his name.

“RK900, at your service.”

“Well, RK900, I have a few questions for you.” Connor decided to probe harder. “Did you murder Detective Reed for his anti-android rhetoric?”

“Not on purpose.”

“Then why is his neck broken?”

“It was an unfortunate fall.”

“I could see that. What are you holding?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified.” RK stood up, his body twitching occasionally at the sight of Gavin’s corpse. “The Cryo-pen’s experimental nature makes it unsuitable for public knowle—”

“That’s enough information for me.” Connor smiled, baring his teeth. “Thank you for your testimony.”

“I’ll just, um, inform Detective Reed’s next of kin.” The android's LED was rapidly blinking red, like a bomb about to burst. “If you'll excuse me.”

Hank and Connor could only watch as the “deviant” ran off.

“So it _wasn't_ the doughnuts.”

“The accident happened because of _sugar._ You could argue that the doughnuts indirectly killed him.”

“That’s insane. You just wanted to say the doughnuts did him in, didn't you?” Hank finally relented, giving up on his unhealthy meal entirely and tossing his half-eaten burger in the trash. “Want to take the day off with me while they’re getting Reed’s funeral crap ready, kid?”

“...Sure.”

=====

“Gavin was a man who lived on his own terms.” Officer Chen shuffled her notecards, brushing a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand. “As his friend, I know all too well how passionate he was about technology...”

RK held no emotional attachment to the DPD. He was a machine. All he needed was to complete his directive properly, but something in his program compelled him to keep an ear on the crowd. Maybe it was closure. Maybe it was _hope._ He hoped it wasn't hope—his orders were to self-destruct should he ever display prohibited emotionalism.

The man in the palanquin at the back of the room gave him none of those emotions, but he couldn't say talking with him wasn't at least a little foreboding despite having deployed from his house just a few days prior.

“Ah, 900. Did you see the photograph they used for my brother's altar? Dreadful, isn't it?”

A quick memory comparison told him that the manic grin on the detective’s face matched his expectations fine.

“I think it suits him. Is the device ready?”

“Not for public display, but Chloe and I would be happy to demonstrate our progress for you.” The shadow in the palanquin cracked its knuckles, adjusting the control panel inside so a few colored lights shone through. _Red, green, blue._

The Chloe holding the front end of the palanquin gave him a soft, strained smile. 

“If this works, it will bring a slew of new legal questions to light.” RK closed his eyes to let himself process this information. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve received my fair share of robots to repair, 900. How different could it be?” The silhouette flipped another switch on the panel. “The human body is a collection of chemicals and electrical impulses. Just like you.”

“I’m not entirely sure how I feel about electrifying a man’s corpse at his own funeral, Mr. Kamski."

“You’d feel impressed and inspired.” The air began to crackle.

Fowler stepped up to the podium as Chen moved back to her seat in the pews. “Detective Reed was a valuable member of the force, and because of this, I posthumously present him a Medal of Valor for his service. A Purple Heart medal, for his bravery putting his life on the line. And finally…” Fowler dug through his pockets. “A Spirit of Detroit award for all the citizens he helped on his climb to the top. Let's have a moment of silence to pay our respects. It’s what he would have wanted. 10 minutes should be—”  

 _“Ten minutes of silence?”_ Gavin jolted up far too quickly for a man who was still internally frozen. “Looks like someone ran out of time to waste on the schedule.”

“Holy fuck, holy water!” Fowler staggered back, opening his half-empty water bottle and throwing it at Gavin. “I did _not_ work for this city for 30 goddamn years to get eaten by a zombie.”

“Eugh, what the hell?” Gavin sputtered, coughing up his unwanted drink. “Nice try, sir, but I’m Jewish, not undead. I’m not gonna eat anyone’s brains out.”

“How the hell did you manage to survive _death?_ We thought you were gone for good! _”_

“Not before I get that promotion.” Gavin clicked his tongue, the holes in his cheeks making the sound whistle.

“Reed, did you set this whole funeral up for some stupid medals?”

“What funeral? All I remember is fat robot ass on my dick.” Gavin’s smile turned cruel, a carbon copy of his memorial photograph. “You might wanna fix that, sir. I can feel the e-STDs forming already.”

“...Glad to have you back, Detective.”

“Likewise.” Gavin pointed at the small microphone on Fowler’s suit. “Mind if I borrow the soapbox for a sec?”

Fowler tossed Gavin the mic, which he caught in a burst of noisy feedback.

“Ahem. As the recently deceased, I appreciate all your gooey words and bullshit platitudes. Really, I do. I just have one question for you all…” Gavin took an exaggerated breath. “Why didn’t you fucking assholes tell me any of this shit while I was _still alive?”_ he shouted, causing his neck bones to fall back and scrape his esophagus. “Ow.”

But no one replied. They were too busy running out of the funeral home in abject horror. The din of people vacating the premises was enough to vibrate anyone’s brains out of place. Gavin grabbed his wayward skull to keep it from plummeting to the floor, his eyes narrowing at the blood seeping into his shirt lapel. “Dammit, I kinda like this suit.”

Gavin pressed the inside of his cheek with his tongue, freezing when it brushed over the small holes left there by the skewers. RK couldn’t tell if the shiver in Gavin’s spine was fear or anticipation.

Movement from the back of the room pulled his attention from the detective, and his eyes flitted over to the Chloes, dropping to their knees as Kamski hopped out of the palanquin in a hoodie and jeans that made his lush mode of transportation look even more anachronistic.

“Elly.” Gavin blinked as the Chloes carried the palanquin towards his casket.

“Gavin.”

“Long time no see, Elly.”

“I wouldn’t call me that if I were you. I could send you back to Hell with the touch of a button.”

“Okay, Eli-juh. What the hell happened here?”

“You were clinically dead for several days. If 900 here hadn’t used the Cryo-pen when he did, your brain would have decayed beyond repair. And we all know you don’t need any fewer brain cells.”

“Shut up, asshole. You want me to start calling you Elly again?” Gavin’s eyes widened as he clapped his hands around his unstable head.

“I figured there might be some adverse side effects. I’ll wrap your neck before you go.” Kamski searched through the palanquin before pulling out a white neck brace.

Kamski adjusted Gavin’s neck to the brace with a gentle hand. Gavin groaned in embarrassment at the attention. “Can't you let a guy suffocate on dick in peace?”

“You _do_ realize that you’re perfectly free to suck as much dick as you want after the healing process finishes, right?” Kamski tapped his nose. “I saved your life. Aren’t you glad I had some inventions to test?”

“...Fucker.”

“Try not to die again, Detective.” With a click of the brace, Kamski climbed back into his palanquin, intent on returning to his estate on the backs of several Chloes.

“You're a freak, Lijah!”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“A goddamn freak.” Gavin laughed, barely seeing Kamski off before going back inside the funeral site.

“‘Sup, plastic?” Gavin gave the android a toothy smirk. “Do you mind holding onto my new _law enforcement decorations_ for me? I think I’m gonna show them to my pets when I get home.”

A pop-up appeared in the corner of RK’s vision. _“Why don’t we prevent any more incidents from happening? I’ll be expecting you soon. -E. Kamski.”_ He shook it off, simply nodding in acknowledgement before picking Gavin’s posthumous awards up from the podium.

“And hey, the next time you wanna snap some necks…” Gavin licked his lip. “It’s my turn to sit on your face. I’ve got some new piercings to put in.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's just Fatty RK: the Fic, but with artistic liberties taken.  
> I'm a slow writer, but this was fun to work on.  
> Gavin managed to end up better off than he usually does here.  
> I was considering flipping that backwards text, but I didn't want a wonky Unicode situation.


End file.
